Keigo Higashino: Salvation of a Saint

Kusanagi turned and walked back towards the door. Utsumi quietly followed.

Inside, the house was packed. Kusanagi saw officers from the local precinct milling about as well as people from his own department.

Junior Detective Kishitani spotted him and came over. With a wry smile on his lips he said, ‘Sorry to call you into work this early, sir.’

‘You got a problem with the hours I keep?’ Kusanagi grumbled. Then: ‘Is this even a homicide?’

‘Not sure yet. But it looks likely.’

‘Explain it to me. And use small words.’

‘Well, the gist of it is, a man, the owner of the house, died. In the living room. Alone.’

‘We’re sure he was alone?’

‘Come over here.’

Kishitani led Kusanagi into the living room, with Utsumi trailing behind. It was a big room — over five hundred square feet, he guessed. There were two green leather sofas and a low marble table in the middle.

An outline of the body had been drawn in white tape on the floor next to the table. The body itself was already gone. Kishitani stood looking down at it for a moment before turning back to Kusanagi. ‘The deceased’s name is Yoshitaka Mashiba, married, no kids.’

‘I heard that before coming over,’ Kusanagi said. ‘He was the president of some company, right?’

‘Yeah, an IT place. He wasn’t at work today, though, it being Sunday and all. We’re not even sure yet if he left the house at all.’

‘The floor was wet?’ Kusanagi asked, noting a slight stain on the flooring.

‘Coffee. They found it spilled next to the body. One of the guys in Forensics got it with a syringe. There was a coffee cup, too, on its side.’

‘Who found the body?’

‘Er...’ Kishitani opened his memo pad. ‘Woman by the name of Hiromi Wakayama. One of the wife’s pupils. Actually, more like her apprentice.’

‘Apprentice what?’

‘The wife is a famous patchwork quilter.’

‘There are famous quilters?’

‘Apparently. It was my first time hearing about it, too. Maybe a woman would know?’ Kishitani looked over at Utsumi. ‘You ever heard of an “Ayane Mita”?’ He showed her his memo pad where he had written down the characters for her name.

‘No,’ she replied. ‘And why would you expect a woman to know?’

‘It was just a thought,’ Kishitani said, giving his head a scratch.

Kusanagi suppressed a smile as he looked at his two subordinates. Poor Kishitani had finally got a new recruit of his own to push around — and it was a woman. He has no idea how to handle her.

‘Tell me about how the body was found,’ Kusanagi asked.

‘Well, his wife had gone to her parents’ house up in Sapporo yesterday. Before heading out, she left her house key with Ms Wakayama. I guess she didn’t know when she’d be getting back, so she wanted someone else to have a key in case anything came up. Ms Wakayama says that she was worried how Mr Mashiba was getting along by himself and called him, but he wasn’t answering his mobile or the landline. So she got all worked up, and came over to the house. She says she first called a little after seven, and it was almost eight when she got here.’

‘Which is when she found the body?’

‘Correct. She used her own phone to call nine-nine-nine. The ambulance got here right away and determined he was dead. They got a nearby doctor to come and check him out. That’s when they decided there was something suspicious about it and called the precinct... and here we are.’

‘Hmph.’ Kusanagi grunted and glanced at Utsumi, who had wandered away, over towards the cupboard. ‘So where’s this... whoever it was who found the body?’

‘Ms Wakayama is resting in one of the cars. The chief is with her.’

‘What, the old man’s here already? I didn’t notice him on the way in,’ Kusanagi said with a frown. ‘They got a cause of death yet?’

‘It’s looking a lot like poison. Suicide’s always a possibility... but we wouldn’t be here if there weren’t a good chance of it being homicide, would we?’

‘Hmph,’ Kusanagi grunted again, his eyes following Junior Detective Utsumi as she walked into the kitchen. ‘So when this Ms Wakayama got to the house, was the door locked?’

‘She says it was.’

‘The windows and sliding glass doors, too?’

‘Everything except the bathroom window on the second floor was locked when the officers from the precinct got here.’

‘And is that window big enough for a person to go in and out of?’

‘I haven’t actually tried, but I don’t think so, no.’

‘Okay, why does the precinct think there’s a chance it’s homicide, not suicide?’ Kusanagi sat down on the sofa and crossed his legs. ‘Why do they think someone poisoned his coffee? If they did, how did they get out of the house? It doesn’t add up.’

‘Well... based just on the crime scene evidence, I agree. It’s hard to imagine.’

‘Something here that I’m missing?’

‘Well, when the guys from the precinct were examining the scene, Mr Mashiba’s — the deceased’s — mobile phone rang. The call was from a restaurant in Ebisu. Apparently, he had made reservations for two at eight o’clock tonight. They were calling because no one had shown. According to the restaurant, he made the reservation an hour and a half before, at six thirty. And, like I said, Ms Wakayama called Mr Mashiba a little after seven, by which time he wasn’t answering. You see what the problem is. It doesn’t make sense for someone who calls and makes reservations at a restaurant at six thirty to go and commit suicide at seven.’

‘Yeah,’ Kusanagi said with a frown, crooking one finger to scratch the edge of his eyebrow. ‘It also doesn’t make sense for you not to tell me this right away.’

‘Sorry. You were asking so many questions, I hadn’t got around to it.’

‘Right,’ Kusanagi said, giving his own knees a slap as he stood. Utsumi had come out of the kitchen and returned to her spot in front of the cupboard. ‘Hey,’ he called to her. ‘Kishi’s giving us the lowdown. What are you doing wandering around?’

‘I was listening to everything. Thank you, Detective Kishitani.’

‘Er, you’re welcome,’ Kishitani managed.

‘Anything I should know about that cupboard?’

‘Look here,’ she said, pointing with her finger inside the open cupboard. ‘Doesn’t this part of the shelf look a little lonely compared to the rest?’

There was a space in the spot she indicated, large enough for a plate to fit.

‘I guess.’

‘I checked in the kitchen and found five champagne glasses in the drying rack.’

‘So that’s probably what went there.’

‘I think so, yes.’

‘And? Why do we care about champagne glasses?’

Utsumi looked up at the detective, her lips slightly parting. Then she shook her head, as though she had changed her mind about whatever it was she was going to say. ‘It’s not important,’ she said. ‘I was just thinking, they must’ve had a party recently. When else would you use champagne glasses?’

‘Sounds like a reasonable assumption. And a well-to-do couple like this with no kids probably hosts their share of parties. Still, it doesn’t have much bearing on whether this guy committed suicide or not.’ Kusanagi looked back towards Kishitani before continuing. ‘People are complicated creatures, who sometimes do seemingly contradictory things. I don’t care if they just held a party or made reservations for dinner, when someone wants to die, they die.’

Kishitani sighed and gave a noncommittal nod.

‘What about the woman?’ Kusanagi asked.

‘Sorry, woman?’

‘The victim... er, I mean deceased’s wife. Has anyone called her yet?’